


All the Stars in Texas

by Yenelai



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (at the time the fic is set stiles isn't underage anymore but.. yeah it's still), Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Blow Jobs, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Murder, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Child Abuse, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 20:52:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7772989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yenelai/pseuds/Yenelai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek rob gas stations for kicks and cash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Stars in Texas

**Author's Note:**

> this is a repost from my old account (for the second time) because irl people are onto me and I wanna turn this into a full fic ~o~

based on [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-VqNKz1wBgM):

 

Stiles hikes the chair down and relaxes into the faux leather. Two bags of cash sit in the back of the car—stolen of course—swinging from side to side when Derek takes corners like a real maniac.

Derek’s gloved hands are stretched tight over the wheel, face flickering in and out of the street lights. His shoulders are tight and lips pinched. Stiles just watches him with a small smile as they drive to nowhere.

“Wanna hit another one?” Stiles asks.

Derek gives him a sharp look. “It’s been two weeks since the last. Are you looking to get caught? I don’t know about you, but I don’t exactly want to rot in a cell for the rest of my life. They’ve been warning everyone in the state about us, we need to lay low and do what we can with the cash we’ve got.”

“I’m bored, is all. We’ve been driving for two weeks straight and sleeping in this shithole of a car. The last hit was the first real fun we’ve had for a long time, admit it.”

Derek gives a sharp sigh. “So we’ll buy you a DS or a book, whatever you like, I’ll go get it for you.”

“Don’t want it,” Stiles complains childishly, crossing his arms and turning to stare out the window.

Derek flexes his fingers and snaps, “suit yourself.”

 

 

Stiles wakes up to the brakes slamming and almost hits his head on the dashboard.

“Derek, what the fuck?”

Derek gives him an exasperated look and peels a finger off the wheel to gesture in front of them. Stiles’ eyes light up at the sight. The clock says it’s four in the morning, which is excellent because besides them, what kind of person was awake at such a shitty time of day?

The lights of the twenty four hour gas station seep into the night and Stiles’ heart sings.

“Really? Really, really?”

Derek leans over and runs his gloved hand through Stiles’ hair. “Really, really.”

Stiles climbs onto Derek’s lap and kisses him heavy and quick before jumping out the car. He bounces on the balls of his feet and half pulls Derek from the car in his impatience.

Derek opens the trunk and unzips a black bag, handing Stiles a small silver gun before taking one spray painted black for himself.

“God, you look good with a gun,” Stiles all but moans.

Derek gives a sly grin and pulls up the front of his shirt, tucking his gun into the waistband of his jeans and following Stiles’ gaze. “Let’s go.”

Stiles flicks his eyes back to Derek’s, unabashed at his staring. “Yeah.”

 

 

 

Stiles first met Derek when he was sixteen, when his arms and chest were still covered in bruises. His father interrogated Derek as the main suspect for a robbery that ended in murder, but the older man wouldn’t budge. Even at twenty five, he was still as cold and collected as he is now. The police were going on nothing but a shaky account from an eye witness who thinks--but-isn’t-sure he saw Derek.

Anyone with half a brain would realise he was guilty, though. Alone in an apartment there was no way he could afford, and with priors up to his ears, it wasn’t a big stretch to make.

Stiles approached him first, entranced in the oddest of ways. He knew Derek was danger personified, but it did nothing to extinguish the spark of interest. If Derek could so mercilessly put a gun to a strangers head and take their money then maybe… maybe he could be of use.

Derek could only be legally held for another twenty four hours at this point, and Stiles wasn’t going to waste any time.

“You did it, didn’t you?” Stiles had asked when he sneaked in, the cops in the station preoccupied with switching shifts, not at all concerned about a possible breach of code.

Derek had just smirked at him, his eyes so cold they sent shivers down Stiles’ spine. “No.”

“You’re a bad liar.” That, in itself, was a lie. Derek’s face gave away not a hint of what he was thinking.

“No, but you are.” Derek linked his fingers and sat forward. “What do you want?”

Stiles told him.

Two days later a bullet rested between the eyes of Stiles’ father and the two were out on the open road, grins wide and carefree.

 

 

 

The clerk doesn’t spare them a glance up from his phone. Middle aged and with a round belly, he doesn’t look like he’ll put up much of a fight.

“Might as well get dinner while we’re here,” Stiles says offhandedly while he scans the roof for cameras—more out of habit than anything. The artificial light has him squinting. Everyone who watches the seven o’clock news would be familiar with their faces. “What do you think, chicken or beef?”

Derek paws through an assortment of dry foods. “We had chicken last night.”

“Yeah, but chicken always tastes way better then beef does. When you microwave beef it gets all soggy and gross.”

“And chicken gets dry. So pick the beef, or get something else.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and pulls out two pre-packaged pasta dishes. “Would this suit your delicate tastes, oh lord?”

Derek just gives him a dry look. “Ha-ha. Now go put them on the counter and get a bag so we can get this gig over with. It’s not good staying here for too long.”

Stiles sneaks a dish of chicken over to the counter and gives the clerk a blinding smile. The clerk narrows his eyes at him and starts packing his food, head cocked like he’s trying to work out just where he’s seen Stiles’ face before. Derek slides up next to him and grumbles, “I said not the chicken.”

The clerk all of a sudden snaps to attention, the appearance of Derek striking something in his memory. He tries to play it cool and picks up his phone with a polite, “just a moment.”

Stiles and Derek have got guns on him before he can dial the first number. “I kind of like it when they recognise us,” Stiles says. “I feel famous.”

Derek rolls his eyes and pushes the gun closer, instructing the man to hand over all the money in the till, and to not mess around. His hands shake as he loads the money into shopping bags, sweat dripping down his pug-ish face. Stiles shows his back to the cashier and stares at Derek with a feral grin painted on his wide lips.

Derek keeps his eyes on the cashier and gives a grunt of disapproval. “Bit busy, Stiles.”

“Can you blame a man when his boyfriend’s looking so hot?” he lulls, blinking innocently. "Don't be such a sourpuss."

Derek looks Stiles down once before returning to his job, running his teeth over his lips. The clerk all but shoves the money into their hands while sobbing incoherently and begging to be saved. Stiles takes the money and Derek keeps the gun trained on the man until they’re out of the door, running to their car. Derek hops into the driver’s side and starts the car while Stiles stuffs the money in the back. He can see the clerk calling, presumably, the police so he hops in the car and shouts, “go, go, go!”

The car jumps so fast the wheels tear and squeal on the tarmac, air smelling of burnt rubber. Stiles leans back in his seat and laughs breathlessly, the adrenaline pumping through him. Derek pretends to always be exasperated by his boyfriend, but Stiles can see the way his hands curl and his leg bounces. Stiles takes Derek’s gun from his lap, not so subtly brushing Derek’s dick through his pants. He places both in his lap and strokes the barrels of the guns.

Derek takes his eyes off the wheel and gives him a hungry look like he’s ready to pounce him right then and there, but it’s not exactly appropriate timing considering the cops are probably one their way with their sirens blaring.

Stiles understands this dilemma, and also understands there’s a very good way to get around it without stopping the car. Stiles slides his hand over Derek’s thigh, for the first time thankful that the car is so small. He slides his hand up and up until Derek’s breathing heavily, but he doesn’t touch him—not yet.

Stiles leans over the handbrake and licks a stripe up Derek’s neck, stopping at the lobe of his ear and biting down softly. Derek leans back against the seat and groans, hips canting. Stiles steadies him and lifts his shirt, pinching at his nipple, and then moving closer to suck it into his mouth. It’s his most sensitive spot, and his hand flies from the steering wheel to Stiles’ hair, forcing him to stay there. Stiles indulges for a few moments before becoming impatient, dropping his mouth to the front of Derek’s jeans. He palms him through the fabric then unzips him, pulling his dick from his underwear. Derek’s dick is heavy and red, and Stiles’ so fucking turned on he start stroking himself under his pants.

“God, you’re such a brat sometimes, you know?” Derek pants, lifting his hips when Stiles won’t pay his dick the attention it wants. His cock brushes Stiles’ lips and he finally gives in, dipping his tongue out and licking the tip of the head. He wraps his lips around the head and sucks hard, making Derek let out a string of swears and high pitched noises. He eases himself down halfway on Derek’s dick, and Derek pushes him by the hair further down.

“Fuck yes baby,more, you can take it,” he moans.”

He relaxes his throat and pushes down until his nose is brushing against Derek’s skin.

“Fucking Christ,” Derek pants as Stiles swallows around him. “God you’re desperate for it.”

Stiles pumps harder on his own dick and moans around Derek.

“Such a slut, so ready to suck me off even when the cops are chasing after us.” He pulls a gun of Stiles’ lap and holds it slack in his hand, pointed at Stiles. “Suck harder.”

Stiles looks up with wide, desperate eyes, bobbing up and down while keeping his eyes on the gun. He runs his tongue flat against the bottom of Derek’s dick how he likes it, and Derek groans needily. “Fuck, I’m close.”

Stiles thumbs the slit of his dick with his thumb and rubs himself until he can’t find the self-restraint to stop, heat pooling low in his stomach.

Derek presses the gas and they speed faster into the night the closer he gets. His fingers tangle in Stiles’ hair so tight that it hurts, turning Stiles on even more. He bobs his head twice more and Derek holds him down, coming into his mouth. Stiles swallows every drop, and follows moments after, spilling into his hand.

His lips detach from Derek and he sits back in his seat, breathing heavily. He pulls his hand from his pants and holds it in front of Derek. “Lick it off,” he commands, and Derek does, tongue lapping greedily over his skin, sucking at his fingers.

“You taste so good,” Derek says, face flushed and red.

Stiles laughs and buries his shoulders into the seat. “How sweet.” He pulls the map of directions from the glove box and scans the pages. “So, where the fuck are we? ‘Cause I’m telling you, I really need a shower, or at least some new clothes.”

Derek just laughs and speeds up the car.


End file.
